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S 3812s 


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MARTIN 
SCHOTZE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
WILLIAM  A.  NITZE 


x^V 


^ 


SONGS  AND  POEMS 


SONGS 


AND 


POEMS 


MARTIN  SCHUTZE 


CHICAGO 

THE  LAURENTIAN  PUBLISHERS 
1914 


Copyright  1914 

by 
THE  LAURENTIAN  PUBLISHERS 


faithora  Jveit 

Chicago 


PS 


To  MY  MOTHER 

"Who  offers  many  things , 
Something  to  many  brings" 


NOTE 

IESE  poems,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  printed  in 
periodicals,  in  "B.  L.  T.V  A  Line-o'-Type  or  Two  in  The 
Chicago  Tribune  and  in  the  author's  poetic  dramas, 
Hero  and  Leander  and  Judith,  are  now  first  published. 

The  "Songs  of  the  Common  Life"  were  written  during  the 
Progressive  presidential  campaign  of  1912. 


CONTENTS 

SONGS  OF  THE  COMMON  LIFE 

Easter  13 

The  Worker  14 

The  Vow  of  the  Nation  16 

The  Division  17 

The  New  Nation  18 

The  Heart  of  the  People  20 

The  Flag  of  Fellowship  21 

The  Sister  of  the  Blind  22 

The  Slum  Child  23 

The  Singer  25 

SONGS  OF  SEASONS  AND  HOURS 

Late  Spring  29 

Apple  Blossoms  30 

Persephone's  Return  32 

Blossom  Time  34 

Summer  Morning  35 

Summer  Shadowings  36 

The  Common  Road  38 

Freedom  40 

The  Blue  Wind  41 

October  Gypsy  42 

Nightfall  44 

LOVE  SONGS 

Song  47 

Love's  Meadows  48 

The  Willow  Tree  49 

Three  Night  Songs  50 

Two  in  the  Moonlight  52 

Thy  Mouth's  a  Spring  of  Roses  54 

As  to  the  Sun  55 


CONTENTS— Continued 

The  Gardener  of  My  Love 

The  Tender  Motions 

Thy  Voice 

Shimmering  Fancies 

Her  Love  Came  With  the  Blossoming 

I  Spoke  of  Morns 

Two  by  a  Lake 

The  Sea  Lover 

The  Call  63 

Tumultuous  Passion  64 

Night  Phantom  65 

The  Children  of  Desire  66 

Dawn  67 

A  Tip-Toe  Visit  68 

VARIOUS  SONGS 

The  Gods  of  Life 

A  Memory 

Beyond  Our  Strength 

Morning  Glory 

Song  of  the  Spirits  of  Beauty 

Heart's  Desire 


POEMS 
Her  Tokens 

A  Wise  Man  82 

The  Ripening  of  Love  83 

Under  the  Rainbow  Arch  86 

Love  87 

Dead  Wisdom 
Regeneration  90 


CONTENTS— Continued 

DISCOURSES 

Friendship  93 

Righteousness  and  Pity  94 

Psyche  95 

Clamor  98 

Sympathy  99 

Morning  102 

EPIGRAMS 

Name  Not;  Evoke!  107 

Inner  Riches  108 

Spontaneity  109 

The  "Sober-Minded"  110 

The  Tory  111 

The  Reactionary  112 

An  Organ  of  Privilege  113 

The  Respectables  114 

The  "  Practical  People  "  115 

The  Man  of  Precedent  116 

The  Insect  117 

Dollar  Efficiency  118 

Unvisioned  119 

Bourgeois  Art  120 

In  Early  Necessity  Shirked  121 

Wanwisdom  122 

Mock-Kindness  123 

Extravagance  124 

Duties,  Opportunities,  Desires  125 

Power,  Endurance,  Economy  126 

A  Cycle  127 


SONGS  OF  THE  COMMON  LIFE 


EASTER 


o 


PEN  your  windows,  open  your  hearts! 
Springtide  enters,  winter  departs, 
Life  is  risen  mid  sweet  airs  and  song: 
Open  your  hearts  to  her  new-born  throng. 

Open  your  hearts,  open  your  doors! 
Scatter  abroad  your  cherished  stores, 
Look  not,  nor  trouble,  where  they  may  fall: 
As  ye  receive,  ye  shall  render  to  all. 

Open  your  hearts,  open  your  arms! 
Share  with  all  men  what  gladdens  and  harms. 
Up!  now,  my  cities,  your  portals  adorn; 
Rejoice!  for  a  new  spring  of  love  is  born. 


13 


THE  WORKER 


T, 


HEY  sit  in  the  house  that  I  have  made, 
And  I  must  wander  again. 
They  have  my  peac^and  sheltering  shade, 
And  I,  the  dust  and  rain. 

Their  brows  are  smooth  and  their  eyes  are  calm, 
Their  hands  are  satin  sleek, 
But  where  is  the  balm  will  soften  my  palm 
And  unstrain  my  coarsened  cheek? 

The  harvest  that  I  have  sown,  they  reap, 
They  boast  of  the  weal  I  wrought; 
The  portals  that  I  threw  wide,  they  keep, 
They  father  the  gifts  I  brought. 
What  I  have  earned  is  their  increment, 
The  gold  of  my  dreams,  their  crown, 
My  life's  intent,  their  monument, 
My  worth,  their  rich  renown. 

Their  tender  hands,  o'er  quick  with  pain, 
Would  beckon  the  spirit's  boon, 
Yet  are  they  dead  to  the  shaping  strain 
That  stirs  in  the  block  rough-hewn; 
They  do  not  wake  the  god  that  sleeps 
In  the  heart  of  the  humblest  task, 
They  span  no  steeps,  they  sound  no  deeps, 
Content  with  the  velvet  mask. 


14 


The  dust  is  sharp  in  my  throat  and  eye; 

Still  to  my  stride  I  hold, 

While  their  souls  faint  and  smothering  lie 

Under  dust  of  gain  and  gold. 

My  forehead  is  rough,  mine  eye  a-stress, 

But  know  their  brows  unmarred 

How  thoughts  of  grace  and  gentleness 

Wear  paths  that  are  deep  and  hard? 

They  sit  in  the  house  that  I  have  built 

And  I  must  wander  on; 

They  hold  the  cup,  but  the  draught  is  spilt, 

Nor  know  they  how  it  is  won. 

I  may  not  rest  when  the  call  I  hear 

Nor  eat  the  fruit  of  my  tree; 

And  some  may  jeer,  and  some  may  fear, 

But  no  man  shall  master  me. 


15 


THE  VOW  OF  THE  NATION 


I 


HAVE  looked  upon  mine  image  in  the  mirror  of  the 

Lord, 
I  have  gazed  upon  a  craven  mid   the  tempest  and  the 

flame, 

I  have  felt  within  my  vitals  the  entering  of  the  sword, 
I  have  sworn  to  bring  a  harvest  out  of  barrenness  and 

shame. 

My  shame  shall  be  my  banner  borne  on  high, 
My  folly,  a  great  summons  and  a  pledge, 
My  sore  reproach  I  make  my  battle  cry, 
My  dullness  beat  into  a  shining  edge; 

My  blindness  shape  into  a  javelin, 

My  fear,  into  a  falcon  on  the  wing; 

My  sloth  shall  be  my  charger  mid  the  din, 

My  faintness,  a  bright  arrow  on  the  string. 

I  have  looked  upon  mine  image  in  the  mirror  of  the  Lord, 
I  have  gazed  upon  a  craven   mid  the  tempest  and  the 

flame, 

I  have  felt  within  my  vitals  the  entering  of  the  sword, 
I  have  sworn  to  bring  a  harvest  out  of  barrenness  and 

shame. 


16 


THE  DIVISION 


Y, 


E  that  hold  faith  stronger  than  death, 
Stand  forth  in  battle  to  the  last  breath; 
Naught  is  of  worth  in  heaven  and  earth 
Till  a  new  triumph  of  truth  shall  have  birth. 

Stand  ye  now  forth,  the  West  and  the  North, 

The  South  and  the  East;  for  the  faith  stand  ye  forth! 

Ye  that  are  faint,  make  ye  no  plaint, 
Perish  with  them  of  the  traitorous  taint; 
Ye  that  are  numb,  scornful  and  dumb, 
Tremble,  the  day  of  oblivion  has  come. 

Stand  ye  now  forth,  the  West  and  the  North, 

The  South  and  the  East;  for  the  faith  stand  ye  forth! 

Ye  that  would  trim,  bewry,  and  bedim 

The  intent  of  the  day,  find  the  day  grown  grim, 

A  division  keen,  a  sword  cutting  clean 

'Twixt  the  right  and  the  wrong,  with  nothing  between. 

Stand  ye  now  forth,  the  West  and  the  North, 

The  South  and  the  East;  for  the  faith  stand  ye  forth! 

Ye  that  hold  faith  stronger  than  death, 
Stand  forth  in  battle  to  the  last  breath; 
Naught  is  of  worth  in  heaven  and  earth 
Till  a  new  triumph  of  truth  shall  have  birth. 

Stand  ye  now  forth,  the  West  and  the  North, 

The  South  and  the  East;  for  the  faith  stand  ye  forth! 

17 


THE  NEW  NATION 

Tune:  "  The  Son  of  God  Goes  Forth  to  War" 

rUR  hosts  are  marching  to  the  war 
For  man  and  liberty, 
Our  banners  flutter  near  and  far; 
Who  shall  our  leader  be? 
Who  bears  the  token  of  the  Lord, 
The  word  that  makes  men  free, 
Whose  faith  is  as  a  flaming  sword, 
He  shall  our  leader  be. 

A  gilded  pit  of  greed  and  gain 

Where  might  alone  is  free, 

A  palace  propped  by  need  and  pain, 

Shall  this  our  country  be? 

A  land  for  all  to  labor  in 

And  share  in  just  degree, 

Where  none  shall  want  what  all  may  win, 

That  shall  our  country  be. 

Who  trades  on  weakness  and  despair, 

And  mints  the  guileless  plea, 

Who  fattens  on  the  orphaned  care, 

Shall  he  our  comrade  be? 

Who  seeks  the  light  of  brotherhood 

Spite  Profit's  cold  decree, 

The  warrior  for  the  common  good, 

He  shall  our  comrade  be. 


18 


Come,  man  and  matron,  boy  and  maid, 

Come,  all  that  will  be  free, 

March  on,  march  on,  ye  plain  brigade, 

On,  on!    To  victory. 

Hark,  hark!     A  voice  comes  from  above, 

It  is  the  Lord's  decree: 

The  rule  of  man  shall  be  man's  love. 

That  shall  our  watchword  be. 


19 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

(To  "B.  L.  T.") 

\/UIET,  my  heart;  be  still! 
Traitors  have  stolen  the  keys  of  thy  house, 
Thieves  possess  it  to  rob  and  carouse, 
Homeless  to  rove  they  have  driven  thee  out. 
Quiet,  my  heart;  be  stout! 

Quiet,  my  heart;  be  stout! 
Give  not  thy  flames  to  thy  wrath  to  devour, 
Feed  not  thy  hope  to  the  stress  of  the  hour; 
Nurture  resolve,  as  a  treasure  amassed. 
Quiet,  my  heart;  hold  fast! 

Quiet,  my  heart;  hold  fast! 
Gather  thy  strength  in  a  cup  unriven, 
Then  pour  it  forth  as  a  flood  from  heaven; 
None  shall  stay  thy  steadfast  will. 
Quiet,  my  heart;  be  still! 


20 


THE  FLAG  OF  FELLOWSHIP 


r  LING 


thy  joy  as  a  flag  to  the  dancing  breeze; 
Let  it  speak  to  the  troubled  and  give  them  ease. 
Quicken  all  that  are  sad, 
None  shall  languish  when  thou  art  glad. 

Lift  thine  hope  as  a  flag  to  the  blue  of  heaven, 
Raise  a  token  for  all  that  have  stanchly  striven, 
That  the  stress  of  intent 
Gems  the  dome  of  accomplishment. 

Spread  thy  will  as  a  flag  to  the  airs  of  morning, 
That  it  swell  with  the  breath  of  the  future's  dawning, 
That  it  glow  with  the  light 
As  a  herald  upon  the  height. 

Give  thy  love  as  a  flag  to  the  press  of  June-tide, 
Let  it  stir  with  the  pulse  of  creation's  noon-tide. 
Own  the  general  sway, 
Gladly  follow  the  common  way. 


21 


WE 


THE  SISTER  OF  THE  BLIND 

(To  W.  //.) 


walked  in  darkness  where  would  come  no  dawn, 
In  black  despair  where  hope  had  never  trod, 
When  lo!  on  pity's  pinions  upward  borne 
She  brought  a  new  light  from  the  throne  of  God. 

She  taught  our  fingers,  lo!  and  gave  them  eyes, 

Our  feet  she  set  upon  the  seeing  way, 

To  empty  hands  the  tools  of  enterprise, 

To  powers  disowned  restored  their  native  sway. 

She  lit  the  lamp  of  service  for  the  lost, 
And  of  the  house  of  Hope  us  fellows  made. 
Now  life  is  sweet  amid  a  fruitful  host, 
Our  labor  glad,  our  leisure  unafraid. 


22 


THE  SLUM  CHILD 

T 

-L  HE  sun  sheds  gold  on  a  hill  far  away, 

But  his  gold  is  not  for  thee; 
A  brier  rose  blooms  where  glad  children  play, 
But  its  breath  is  not  for  thee. 


From  a  thousand  herds  the  warm  milk  flows,' 

But  it  foams  not  in  thy  pail; 
On  a  thousand  lands  the  bread  golden  grows, 

But  thy  loaf  is  scant  and  stale. 


Each  morn  has  trailed  her  garment's  edge 
O'er  flowers,  in  heaven  that  blow; 

Each  day  on  his  brow  bears  a  heavenly  pledge, 
But  how  art  thou  to  know? 


23 


THE  SINGER 

rl  VE  me  your  flowers, 
Your  tears  and  applause; 
Bid  the  dumb  minutes 
For  me  pause. 

What  passed  'twixt  rose 
And  the  heart  of  June 
Has  linked  us  awhile 
In  magic  of  tune. 

Long  in  darkness 
I  strove  unknown; 
Soon  into  darkness 
I  glide  alone. 

The  rose  on  your  bosom 
To-morrow  is  dead; 
Lost  is  the  voice 
Of  the  song  that  is  sped. 

Only  to-day 

I  may  dazzle  and  reign — 
Shower  me  with  plaudits 
And  roses  again. 


25 


SONGS  OF  SEASONS  AND  HOURS 


LATE  SPRING 

E  waited,  waited,  while  the  Spring  held  back 
Silent  and  tense  as  hangs  a  gathering  storm; 
But  now  it  bursts,  it  bursts,  and  in  its  track 
The  fires  of  being  leap  from  every  form. 

The  signal  lights  arose  in  flaming  trees, 
And  we  began  to  count  from  day  to  day 
The  flower  signs  along  ravines,  and  leas, 
And  hillsides  where  the  new  sun  had  his  way. — 

And  now  it  bursts,  it  bursts;  the  count  is  lost 
Amid  this  smother  of  the  mounting  tide: 
Out,  out!  a  flower  to  be  among  this  host, 
A  leaf,  a  song,  a  fragrance  far  and  wide. 


29 


APPLE  BLOSSOMS 

Apple  buds  in  leafy  bower, 
Blushing  toward  the  waking  hour— 

Little  maid  upon  the  green 
In  the  roses  of  thy  dawn, 
Seest  thou  the  paler  sheen 
On  the  verges  of  the  morn, 
While  thy  head  with  music  throngs 
And  its  golden  fancies  weaves, 
As  the  bough  with  sudden  songs 
And  with  sudden,  silken  leaves — 

Apple  buds  in  leafy  bower, 
Blushes  wane  at  waking  hour. 

Apple  blossoms  on  the  bough, 
•Light  and  Life  possess  you  now — 

Sweet  are  Light  and  Life  to  thee, 
Maiden;  Love  waits  on  the  way 
Where  thou  drinkest  thirstily 
At  the  fountains  of  thy  May, 
With  a  new  light  in  thine  eyes 
And  a  wonder  in  thy  heart 
Where  the  troubled  mysteries 
And  unbidden  tremors  start — 

Apple  blossoms  on  the  bough, 
Love  and  Life  your  masters  now. 


30 


Apple  blossoms  on  the  breeze 
In  abandon  of  release — 

Maiden  of  the  wilful  ways, 
Are  the  flower  curtains  rent? 
Wouldst  escape  the  coming  days? 
Wouldst  forgo  their  rich  intent? 
Art  a  wild  unbridled  thing 
That  was  never  meant  to  serve, 
Or  but  spreading  fancy's  wing 
In  a  house  of  still  reserve? — 

Apple  blossoms  on  the  breeze, 
Service  over,  comes  release. 

Apple  blossoms  on  the  ground, 
That  fruition  may  abound — 

Gathers  now  the  wedded  Earth 
In  a  fierce,  creative  strife, 
In  relentless  urge  of  birth, 
All  the  energies  of  Life. 
Maiden,  art  intent  to  hear, 
As  the  world  around  thee  swells 
With  the  pledges  of  the  year, 
Biddings  of  thy  marriage  bells? 

Apple  blossoms  on  the  ground, 
Life's  fulfilment  shall  abound. 


31 


PERSEPHONE'S  RETURN 


L  HE 


rain  mists  fleet  and  drift  on  the  dream-dim  earth, 
As  thoughts  move  softly  over  a  mother's  face, 
Dreaming  the  tender  dreams  of  budding  and  birth 
And  of  a  secret  that  grows  apace. 

A  secret  trembles  ever  upon  the  bound, 
Light  feet  go  skipping  over  the  nodding  grain, 
A  coming  voice  coos  deep  in  the  soft  rain  sound, 
And  in  the  trees  that  bow  to  the  rain. 

A  secret  closes  gently  upon  the  trees, 
And  every  shape  with  bountiful  boding  fills; 
A  secret  steals  with  rain-wraiths  along  the  leas, 
Over  the  grey  and  lonely  hills. 

The  hills  are  grey  and  empty  and  far  away, 
But  close  the  teeming  trees  and  expectant  field; 
A  strainless  stillness  sleeps  at  the  heart  of  day, 
Folding  the  thing  that  shall  be  revealed — 

That  starts  to  come,  a  light  from  the  opening  earth, 
A  smile  still  wan  with  blight  of  the  fields  of  death, 
A  smile  already  warm  with  the  glow  of  birth, 
Dim  as  a  glass  with  a  wavering  breath. 


32 


And  slowly  lifts  her  veiled  head  into  the  light 
The  Child  of  Earth,  once  more  from  the  shades  returning; 
Softly  the  lingering  shadow  of  death  takes  flight, 
Softly  the  fires  of  life  are  burning. 

Again  the  Mother  hastens  her  Child  to  meet, 
Her  garments  trail  on  flower,  and  clod,  and  leaf, 
But  now  no  anguish  lashes  her  dewy  feet, 
No  more  her  tears  are  the  tears  of  grief. 


33 


BLOSSOM  TIME 

BLOSSOM  time,  brimming  time, 

Pouring  out  thy  treasure. 

Hill  tops  brim  with  billowing  cloud, 
Birds  each  dell  with  rapture  crowd, 
Brooks  are  roaring  overloud, 

Mocking  bound  and  measure. 

Blossom  time,  breathless  time, 

Quick  with  tears  and  laughter. 

Sun  the  scented  cup  would  drain, 
Sullen  shower  parts  the  twain, 
Brazen  breeze  drives  off  the  rain, 

Casts  the  blossoms  after. 

Blossom  time,  unbridled  time, 

Brooking  no  subdual. 

Life  is  wilful  everywhere, 
Wasting  hosts  that  one  may  bear, 
Then  decreeing  waste  the  heir 

Of  her  next  renewal. 

Blossom  time,  bounteous  time, 

Riskless  is  thy  reaping. 

What  is  loss  when  Life  is  all, 
What  is  waste  where  each  must  fall, 
Blossom,  fruit,  and  silken  ball, 

Back  into  Her  keeping. 


34 


SUMMER  MORNING 


A 


SPIRIT  moves 
Upon  the  waters  of  the  summer  sea, 
A  radiant  presence,  free 
As  winged  angels,  of  the  weight  that  proves 
The  rule  of  death. 

The  kindling  ripples  bursting  at  our  feet 
Pour  out  a  sun-born  breath, 
An  inward  scent,  so  pure,  so  Eden-sweet: 
Time  is  at  morn  again, 
And  Life  is  purged  of  heaviness  and  pain. 


35 


SUMMER  SHADOWINGS 

HADOWS  of  feet  of  summer  winds  on  flowering  grasses, 
Shadows  of  dancing  feet  on  impetuous  mountain  streams, 
Shadows  of  wings  where  the  breezes  dart  over  blue  sea 

spaces, 
Shadows  of  fairy  forms  shot  through  with  the  forest 

gleams: 

Bring,  O!  bring  me  again  the  spirits  of  firstling  Graces, 
Bring  them,  match  them  again  with  the  wings  of  my 

pilgrim  dreams, 

Summon  and  guide  my  feet  to  the  far,  enchanted  places 
Where  from  the  groves  of  Morning  the  vision  of  Eden 

beams. 

Swift,  young  Graces,  alert  in  the  quickened  eyes  that 

confessed  me, 
Graces  that  circled  the  brow  and  the  dusky  dome  of  the 

head, 
Told  each  tender  design  and  foreknowledge  of  hands  that 

caressed  me, 
Sprang  from  the  melting  of  lines  where  the  wave  of  motion 

sped; 
Spoke  in  each  cadence,  each  tremor  of  tones,  that  sought 

and  possessed  me, 
Flew  to  the  dawning  of  words,  and  divined  what  no  words 

ever  said, 
Read  from  the  wordless  lips  the  treasured  speeches  that 

blessed  me, 
Trembled  in  fires  of  longing  that  leapt  my  longing  to  wed. 


36 


Shades  of  a  Presence  that  people  the  azure,  sun-sweet 

spaces, 

Echoes  of  tender  words  that  are  wafted  into  my  dreams: 
Lead,  O!  lead  me  again  to  the  far,  enchanted  places, 
Where  from  the  groves  of  Morning  the  vision  of  Eden 

beams. 


37 


now  for  reaches  of  open  road, 
With  sun  and  flowers  and  fragrance  abroad, 
With  sun  and  breezes  and  birds  in  the  leaves, 
And  the  year  on  the  turn  in  yellow  sheaves. 

A  road  not  so  new  it  troubles  the  mind, 
Nor  so  storied,  memories  limp  behind, 
Where  hoof  and  foot  and  tire  unite 
One  large  inseparate  tale  to  write. 

Each  bird  has  a  voice  and  different  air, 
Is  it  thrush  or  yellow  throat?     What  do  I  care! 
The  trees  tell  tales,  and  the  hill  streams  shout, 
I  do  not  trouble  to  make  them  out. 

I  do  not  strain  after  clues  that  fail, 
I  do  not  camp  on  the  edge  of  the  tale, 
Nor  teach  my  feet  to  falter  and  stray, 
But  hold  to  the  immemorial  way. 

I  hear  but  one  great  voice  abroad, 
Singing  the  song  of  the  common  road, 
When  the  seasons'  traffic  burdens  the  air 
And  the  sun  spreads  blessings  everywhere. 


38 


And  it's  ever  to  keep  on  an  even  way, 
Never  to  hasten,  never  to  stay, 
Nor  vainly  linger,  nor  backward  yearn; 
Onward  and  sunward,  and  never  turn; 

Attuned  to  the  one  great  voice  abroad, 
Heeding  the  call  of  the  common  road, 
When  the  seasons'  traffic  burdens  the  air 
And  the  sun  spreads  blessings  everywhere. 


39 


FREEDOM 


O! 


TO  be  standing  on  that  outmost  leaf, 
With  summer's  breath  to  sway  me  in  the  sun; 
Of  franchised  dreams  to  bind  a  balmy  sheaf 
And  be  of  earth-free  birds  companion. 


40 


THE  BLUE  WIND 

J?  ROM  North  to  East  swings  the  blue  gale 
As  turns  a  great  wheel,  loath  to  halt, 
The  Great  Lake  spreads  his  peacock  tail, 
Blue,  green,  beneath  a  vast  blue  vault. 
The  waves  raise  up  their  shouts  amain, 
Their  lips  are  curving  clean  and  proud; 
The  world  is  young  and  fresh  again, 
And  Life  comes  singing  full  and  loud. 


41 


OCTOBER  GYPSY 


I 


FOUND  her  wandering  over  the  hill 

One  warm  October  day; 
Her  feet,  sun-glints  that  swift  and  still 
O'er  waving  grasses  stray. 

A  single  wind-blown  garment  torn 

Clung  to  her  slender  form, 
Grey,  purple-shaded,  season-worn 

By  sun,  and  thorn,  and  storm. 

Her  golden  tresses  were  shot  with  fire 

As  sun-lit  maple  trees; 
And  through  them,  eyes  of  deep  desire — 

Blue  sky  through  golden  leaves. 

Her  head  was  purple-aster  crowned 

(Pale  wreath  of  the  Autumn  dawn) ; 

Her  eyes  were  shaded  with  twilight  round 
As  the  blue  October  morn. 

We  roamed  the  jeweled  morning  through 

With  the  cloud-shadows  over  the  downs; 

At  noon  we  lay  where  the  sky  hung  blue 
In  thin,  gold  maple  crowns. 


Close  as  noOn  shadows,  leaves  were  strown 

Golden  around  each  tree; 
Ripe  and  gay,  the  leaves  came  down, 

Passionate  souls  set  free.      , 

Her  songs  were  as  the  rustling  trees 

(Linked  echoes  of  things  half  said) ; 

Her  hands  alive  as  the  grass-sweet  breeze 
That  softly  over  us  sped: 

This  is  the  bridal  of  the  Earth, 

These,  her  nuptial  bowers, 
These  are  the  days  of  passionate  mirth, 

These,  her  golden  showers. 

With  seeds,  and  leaves,  and  the  wandering  sky, 

Her  ministers  are  we, 
We  ripen,  beget,  and  bear,  and  die, 

Yet  changeless  are  as  she. 

Of  the  magic  knowledge,  these  the  days, 

Which  youth  eternal  brings, 
When  we  see  the  vision  of  her  face 

Through  the  rifting  screen  of  things  .  .  . 


43. 


NIGHTFALL 

HE  woods  and  fields  are  still; 
The  night  is  calm 
Upon  the  silent  hill; 
A  dew-cool  balm 
Descends  upon  the  lids  of  day; 
The  murmurs  of  the  night 
In  drowsy  flight 
Rise  ever,  fall,  and  drift  away: 
Dreams  are  abroad, 
And  Sleep  is  on  her  way. 


44 


LOVE  SONGS 


SONG 

JL  THINK  of  thee  when,  white  beyond  the  mountains, 
The  clouds  arise; 

I  long  for  thee  when,  deep  in  trembling  fountains, 
The  young  moon  lies. 

Deep  in  the  sound  of  waters  never  staying 
Thy  voice  I  hear; 

Amid  the  stir  of  grasses  gently  swaying 
Thy  tread  is  near. 

I  see  thee  when  the  moonlight  softly  glimmers 
On  roof  and  tower; 

And  when  the  sun  in  jeweled  splendor  shimmers 
Through  leaf  and  flower. 

Thou  comest  to  me  when  from  mountain  meadows 
The  dawn  descends; 

Thou  bidest  when  the  silent  tide  of  shadows 
The  hill  ascends, 

As  woods  and  fields  and  flowers  await  the  dawning, 
I  wait  for  thee. — 

The  mists  are  filling  with  the  fires  of  morning — 
O!  come  to  me. 


47 


LOVE'S  MEADOWS 


M 


.Y  love  and  I  in  the  meadow  lie, 
In  the  deep  grass  hidden  so  close,  so  close, 
Where  in  shadow-sprays  the  low  sun  strays 
And,  passing,  smiles,  for  he  knows. 

And  free  to  every  sun-warm  breeze 
As  the  winnowed  grass,  is  my  soul,  my  soul, 
To  the  fragrant  breeze,  the  vagrant  breeze, 
Faint  with  sweet  summer-dole. 

There's  none  to  spy  but  the  glimmering  sky, 
And  his  lover's  heart  is  so  wide,  so  wide — 
Soon  in  godly  mirth  he  will  hold  the  Earth 
In  his  arms,  a  dark-tressed  bride. 

A  little  bird,  can  he  have  heard 

What  our  trembling  hearts  have  sighed,  have  sighed, 

His  wooing  song  he  has  stilled  so  long — 

He  knows,  he  knows,  my  bride  .  .  . 

We  know  a  place  of  crumpled  grass 
Where  we  lay  together  so  close,  so  close, 
Where  memories  stray,  as  of  new-mown  hay 
The  fragrance — and  no  one  knows. 


48 


THE  WILLOW  TREE 


w, 


HERE  the  cliff  looks  o'er  the  valley 
I  have  grown  a  willow  tree, 
And  it  rustles,  and  it  whispers — 
But  my  soldier,  where  is  he? 

Dust  is  whirling  in  the  valley, 
I  see  horsemen,  young  and  free; 
See  their  lances,  see  them  flashing — 
But  my  soldier,  where  is  he? 

I  can  hear  them,  hear  their  voices, 
In  the  murmurs  of  my  tree; 
And  I  listen,  wait  and  listen — 
But  my  soldier,  where  is  he? 


49 


THREE  NIGHT  SONGS 

T 

A  HY  presence  dwells 
Among  the  starlit  places; 
And  from  the  wide  night-spaces 
A  music  wells, 
Purer  than  song, 

Clearer  than  evening  bells  in  harmony; 
The  night  with  all  her  throng 
Of  voices  cannot  hush  the  melody 
In  which  thy  spirit  comes 
And  speaks  to  me. 

II 

Thy  spirit  fills 

The  vibrant  spaces  of  the  night; 

The  choiring  hills, 

In  robes  of  pearly  light, 

Raise  up  their  voices  in  a  chant  of  praise; 

The  valleys  sing 

Their  song  of  starlit  peace; 

And  from  the  dewy  wing 

Of  the  sweet  breeze 

Fall  echoes  of  the  music  of  thy  ways. 


SO 


Ill 

The  music  of  thy  soul  ascends 

The  sounding  dome  of  night, 

And  in  low  murmurs  blends 

With  echoes  of  the  songs  of  praise 

Of  them  that  walk  the  aisles  of  starry  light, 

And  love  with  great  devotion  in  all  their  ways; 

Above  the  throng  of  voices  I  hear  thee, 

And  all  is  well  with  me. 


51 


TWO  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT 

IVLoONLIGHT  floods  the  hills  and  fields 

Silent  everywhere, 

Mounts  into  thy  radiant  face, 

Breaks  amid  thine  hair. 

The  still  baptism  of  the  night 
Gives  a  full  release, 
And  our  spirits  melt  at  last 
In  a  silvery  peace. 

A  new  knowledge  gently  comes, 
While  our  pulses  wait, 
In  a  misty  radiance 
From  the  twilight  gate. 

Words  have  melted  all  away 
With  forgotten  things, 
Every  wish  has  flown  away 
On  mist-woven  wings. 

In  the  soft  fires  of  thine  eyes 
Every  answer  lives, 
All  that  I  required  of  life, 
And  that  now  it  gives. 


52 


All  that  we  desired  and  sought, 
Hopes  despoiled  and  spent, 
Wells  to  brim  the  gleaming  cup 
Of  accomplishment. 

Things  of  change  are  swept  away, 
Things  to  come  and  past, 
And  the  Present  all  complete 
Folds  us  round  at  last. 

Joys  and  sorrows  now  are  one 
In  exalted  mood, 
As  we  walk  'twixt  light  and  dark 
In  beatitude. 


S3 


T, 


HY  mouth's  a  spring  of  roses 
As  the  honey  mouth  of  June, 
Thy  throat,  a  bower  of  nightingales, 
And  all  the  world,  a  tune. 

And  all  the  world  is  singing, 
And  Time  is  e'er  at  June; 
God's  smile  is  beaming  on  thy  head, 
His  grace  is  in  the  tune. 


.S  to  the  sun  one  holds  a  rose 
To  kindle  jewels  of  delight, 
The  choicest  boon  each  day  bestows 
I  lift  into  thy  spirit's  light. 

As  groves  of  spring  are  desolate 
Till  song  awakens  ecstasy, 
My  spirit's  fairest  places  wait 
For  thee,  my  being's  melody. 


55 


THE  GARDENER  OF  MY  LOVE 

c 

OHE  is  the  gardener  of  my  love 

And  every  tender  grace 

That  springs  i'  my  heart,  I  straightway  move 

And  in  her  garden  place. 

Frail  are  and  shy  the  buds  of  grace, 
Perish  for  want  of  care, 
But  in  her  beds  they  grow  apace 
For  all  they  ask  is  there: 

The  fostering  warmth  that  never  fails, 
Sweet  cunning  of  her  hands, 
Variety  that  never  stales, 
The  light  that  flowers  commands. 

And  thus  her  garden  sweeter  grows, 
And  friends  shall  come  and  see, 
A  Love  is  every  flower  that  blows, 
Loves  sing  in  every  tree. 


56 


T, 


HE  tender  motions  of  the  soul 
On  trackless  courses  fly, 
But  she  inscribes  them  on  a  scroll 
Of  loving  constancy; 

And  when  at  last  the  Lord  of  Days 
Shall  tell  the  tale  complete, 
They  shall  be  stars  upon  the  ways 
Where  spirit  lovers  meet. 


57 


THY  VOICE 


T, 


HY  voice,  unselfed,  comes  to  my  hushed  sense 
As  a  clear  Sabbath  bell  to  summer  fields. 
I  fold  it  in  a  tenderness  immense, 
And  all  my  being  adoration  yields. 


58 


SHIMMERING  FANCIES 


L 


rIKE  summer  clouds,  thy. shimmering  fancies  move 
Above  the  spreading  meadows  of  thy  heart, 
And  to  the  fruitful  constancy  of  love 
A  tender  magic,  e'er  renewed,  impart. 


H 


.ER  love  came  with  the  blossoming 
And  spoke  amid  the  song, 
And  all  the  miracles  of  spring 
To  her  revealment  throng. 

For  every  bud  that  opens  now 
Unfolds  her  heart  to  me, 
And  every  song  upon  the  bough 
Resounds  her  melody. 


I 


SPOKE  of  morns  of  love  to  her; 
Her  swelling  lips  wore  blushes,  lo! 
As  if  in  them  began  to  stir 
The  buds  of  kisses  soon  to  blow. 

I  spoke  of  nights  of  love  to  her; 
Her  swelling  bosom  trembled,  lo! 
As  if  within  began  to  stir 
The  buds  of  life  eager  to  blow. 


61 


TWO  BY  A  LAKE 


A 


MOONLIGHT  touch  on  the  woodlands, 
Two  ghosts  of  trees  by  a  lake, 
A  world-wide  peace,  and  a  stillness 
With  a  boundless  wish  in  its  wake — 

The  glimmering  spaces  above  us, 
An  answering  gleam  at  our  feet, 
And  tremulous  riddles  within  us 
Where  the  lights  and  shadows  meet — 

A  moonlight  touch  on  your  forehead, 
A  tremulous  gleam  in  your  eyes; 
And  Life  with  its  treasures  between  us, 
And  Life  with  its  poverties. 


62 


T, 


THE  SEA  LOVER 


I.       THE    CALL 


HE  sound  of  the  sea  is  the  great  multitudinous  shout 

Of  my  passion  wooing  thee, 

The  tireless  tramp  of  the  waves  at  my  feet  is  the  rout 
Of  desire  pursuing  me. 

Here  is  my  heart,  wide  as  the  clangorous  cup  of  the  sky, 

Wide  for  the  tumult  and  splendor  and  fury  to  fill  it; 
This  is  my  call,  mounting  the  breakers'  thundering  cry, 

None  but  the  Keeper  of  tempest  and  seasons  may 

still  it; 
Here  is  my  breast,  brave  as  a  rock  set  square  to  the  rush, 

Square  to  the  huge  upheavals  and  white  embraces; 
(Loud  is  the  laugh  of  this  Titan  mirth  in  the  roar  and  gush 

Of  winds  and  waters  and  rioting  tidal  races) ; 
Here  is  the  floor  of  my  soul,  more  stirred  than  the  floor 
of  the  ocean, 

Glad  for  the  march  of  the  hosts  of  thy  primitive  force; 
Here  the  desire  thou  cravest,  athirst  for  thy  passionate 
potion, 

A  well  of  renewal,  unspent  as  the  ocean's  source. 

The  sound  of  the  sea  is  the  great  multitudinous  shout 

Of  my  passion  wooing  thee; 
The  tireless  tramp  of  the  waves  at  my  feet  is  the  rout 

Of  desire  pursuing  me. 


63 


I 


II.      TUMULTUOUS    PASSION 


PLUNGE  into  thy  soul  as  the  great  winds 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  tormented  sea. 

Are  they  trying  to  bury  themselves  in  the  deep? 
Are  they  trying  to  dive  to  peace  and  sleep?      -> 
Or  mad  with  desire  to  give  to  the  sea 
Their  passionate  power  and  giant  glee? 
And  dost  thou  answer  me  as  the  emulous  sea 
Does  the  great  summons  of  the  resistless  winds? 


64 


III.       NIGHT    PHANTOM 


I  have  stood  by  the  silent  sea, 
Gazing  into  the  depths  of  night 
Down  one  gleaming  path  of  light, 
Desiring  thee. 

Is  it  thy  guide  lamp  lit  for  me? 
Is  it  a  star  path  lost  in  the  mist? 
Is  it  thy  spirit,  come  to  the  tryst 
Over  leagues  of  sea? 

Now  it  seems  to  rise,  and  now 
It  towers  high  on  the  breathless  sea, 
A  radiant  phantom  presence  of  thee 
With  a  star  in  thy  brow. 

My  soul  knew  words  that  were  never  spoken, 
And  uttered  what  never  can  be  unsaid; 
The  touch  of  thy  hand  was  upon  my  head 
As  a  blessed  token. 

Was  it  thy  hand,  now,  cool  as  the  sea? 
Was  it  the  night  astir  in  my  hair? 
Or  some  essence  subtler  than  air, 
Distilled  from  thee?  .... 

How  long  have  I  stood?     Where  did  I  stray? 
The  sea  is  black  and  menacing  now, 
The  night  is  stark  and  empty,  and  thou 
Art  leagues  away. 


65 


L  HE 


IV.       THE    CHILDREN    OF    DESIRE 


words  of  love  thou  saidst  to  me, 
With  the  winds  went  out  upon  the  sea 
To  the  islands  of  desire; 
And  there,  upon  the  sunrise  cove, 
Came  to  them,  from  a  sacred  grove, 
My  longings,  crowned  with  fire. 

They  met,  so  passionate  and  young, 

And  from  their  glad,  wild  wedding  sprung 

The  spirits  of  felicity. — 

And  in  the  waves  upon  the  shore 

That  urge  and  surge,  forevermore 

Our  own  come  home  to  thee  and  me. 


66 


V.       DAWN 


OLOWLY  the  opal  flower  of  Morning  rises, 
Opens,  and  spreads,  and  shines  on  the  marvelling  sea, 
And  from  its  golden  heart,  through  misty  guises, 
Wells,  with  the  tides  of  light,  thy  love  to  me. 


67 


A  TIP-TOE  VISIT 


A 


GROWING  rustle  and  a  fragrant  waft 
A  tenderness  swift-stooping  to  my  head; 
I  dare  not  stir — to  keep  with  humble  craft 
The  unstartled  graces  with  the  wary  tread. 

A  walling  rustle  and  a  fading  waft 
A  sunny  something  fading  from  my  heart; 
I  dare  not  stir — to  hold  with  tremulous  craft 
My  captives,  lest  they  startle  and  depart. 


68 


VARIOUS  SONGS 


THE  GODS  OF  LIFE 

DARKNESS  fell  upon  the  stricken  world, 
The  earth  was  empty  as  a  drained  cup; 
And  men  knew  death,  and  in  their  anguish  cried: 
Why  have  the  gods  of  life  forsaken  us? 

The  gods  read  the  faint  hearts  of  men,  and  smile. 
They  send  abroad  the  legions  of  the  light, 
Dispelling  ever  the  dark  waste  of  death, 
Ever  renewing  life  upon  the  earth. 

Ye  that  would  be  the  servants  of  the  gods, 
Obey  the  voice  of  love  within  your  hearts. 
Love  is  the  sacred  guardian  of  life, 
Knowing  the  deepest  purpose  of  the  gods. 


71 


A  MEMORY 


T, 


HOU  wert  as  an  evening  primrose 
In  golden  loveliness, 
Thou  spirit  of  tender  twilight, 
Withheld  from  the  day's  distress. 

Primrose  awakes  to  the  presence 
Of  the  great  and  simple  things 
That  dwell  in  the  starry  darkness 
Where  peace  extends  her  wings. 

Dawn  offers  her  sweetest  graces: 
A  virgin  chaplet  of  dew, 
Voices  of  birds  and  breezes 
Calling  the  light  anew. 

But  when  all  her  sisters  quicken 
In  the  power  and  press  of  day, 
She  folds  her  golden  eyelids 
And  unheeded  droops  away. — 

Thou  wert  as  an  evening  primrose 
In  golden  loveliness, 
Thou  spirit  of  tender  twilight, 
Fordone  bv  the  dav's  distress. 


72 


BEYOND  OUR  STRENGTH 


L 


rIGHT-HEART  and  Heavy-Heart 
Went  on  the  road  together, 
Light-Heart  trilled  and  tripped  along, 
Foul  or  fair  the  weather. 

Heavy-Heart  beat  the  time 
And  came  trudging  after, 
As  blight  steals  upon  the  bloom, 
Slow  remorse  on  laughter. 

Light-Heart  forgot  his  tune, 
Heavy-Heart  can't  learn  it: 
"Tears,  and  tears,  and  tears,"  it  says, 
Howsoe'er  they  turn  it. 

Side  by  side  they  drag  along, 
Try  their  hearts  to  smother, 
With  the  Cain  mark  on  their  brows, 
Praying  for  each  other. 


73 


MORNING  GLORY 

(To  J.  and  A.  D.    In  Memory  of  G.  D.} 

c 

OTAY  thy  frail  lids,  morning  glory, 

Purple  eye  of  dawn; 

Diadem  of  the  child-day, 
Ere  his  dreams  are  fled  away, 
And  his  mist  wings  worn  away, 

And  his  tresses  shorn. 

Boy  and  girl  on  brink  of  day 

Where  the  veil  is  torn, 

Pause  with  earnest,  wondering  eyes 
Mid  the  drifting  mysteries 
And  the  splendors  that  arise 

From  the  ebbing  morn. 

Morning  mists,  fleeting  fast 

From  the  pressing  day, 

Are  you  phantoms  that  conceal 
Granite  thresholds  of  the  Real, 
Or  vast  beings  that  reveal 

Truth  of  morn  and  May? 

Must  Life  beat  upon  the  gate 
Till  Time  his  dawn  flower  sheds? 
Is  Truth  in  the  bloom  of  dawn, 
Vision  of  great  things  yet  unborn, 
A  lesser  presence  ere  'tis  shorn 
Of  dim  dreams  and  dreads? 


74 


Are  not  Love  and  Life  fulfilled 

In  their  every  pulse? 

In  the  heritage  of  Youth, 

Are  the  seeds  of  After-Truth, 

The  ripe  fruits  from  showers  of  blooth, 

All  that  God's  hand  culls? 


75 


SONG  OF  THE  SPIRITS  OF  BEAUTY 

(From  "The  Mad  Painter  And  The  Rose.") 


w 


E  are  the  real,  we  are  the  seeming, 
We  are  the  word,  we  are  the  thought, 
We,  the  fulfilment  that  is  the  dreaming, 
We,  the  seeking  that  is  the  sought. 

We  are  the  body,  we,  the  spirit, 

We  are  the  cover,  we,  the  core; 

The  wealth  of  the  wave  is  for  us  to  inherit 

Though  the  wave  has  crumbled  upon  the  shore. 

Spread  the  net  of  thy  greed  for  gross  possession, 
Tighten,  and  tighten  the  meshes  again 
Till  thou  catchest  the  wind:     O  dull  obsession! 
Thy  net  is  bellying  and  tugging  in  vain. 

We  are  thy  net  as  it  ripples  around  thee, 

We  the  desire  that  guided  thy  hand, 

We  are  the  spell  of  swift  magic  that  bound  thee, 

We,  spirits  of  sky  and  sea  and  land. 

We,  thy  desire,  but  thou  didst  not  pursue  us, 
We,  throngs  without  end  on  thy  heedless  ways, 
Ever  wooing  thy  sense  if  thy  sense  but  knew  us; 
And  our  service  is  faith  that  never  betrays. 


76 


Thou  chasest  the  shadow  where  dwelleth  the  presence, 
Thou  turnest  to  phantoms  where  spirits  abide, 
Thine  own  thirst  drinkest  where  floweth  the  essence, 
Thou  wooest  a  corpse  where  Life  is  the  bride. 

Wouldst  quicken  the  pace  of  the  forms  that  are  fleeing, 
Yet  their  spirits  on  stakes  of  possession  impale; 
Thou  callest  a  halt  on  the  fountain  of  being, 
Yet  wouldst  not  possess  it  stagnant  and  stale. 

We  are  what  keeps  throbbing,  of  hearts  that  have 

crumbled, 

What  stays  of  birds  darting  from  perch  to  perch, 
What  dies  not  of  deeds  though  their  empires  have 

tumbled, 
Of  the  breeze-tended  grace  of  the  storm-stricken  birch. 

In  the  fleeting  of  forms  we  falter  and  fly  not, 

In  the  shifting  of  places  we  yield  not  to  space, 

In  the  changing  of  times  we  alter  and  die  not, 

We,  the  victors  of  death  in  the  death-conquered  face. 


77 


HEART'S  DESIRE 

V^/VER  the  blue  hills,  far  away, 
There  lies  happiness,  they  would  say. 

And  I  arose  and  onward  sped — 
Heart's  Desire  was  flying  ahead. 

Never  lagged  when  my  hair  was  gray — 
Heart's  Desire  was  drawing  away. 

Came  to  a  height,  swept  bare  by  the  wind — 
Heart's  Desire  had  left  me  behind. 

Over  the  blue  hills,  far  away, 
There  lies  happiness,  so  they  say. 


78 


POEMS 


HER  TOKENS 

c 

OOME  are  so  changeless  that  they  go  about 
Wearing  the  withered  rose  of  yesterday; 
Some,  since  the  fairest  blossoms  fade  away, 
Dare  not  possess  them;  while  the  bold  that  flout 
Both  tender  care  and  measure  in  the  rout 
Of  harsh  attainment,  heap  them,  bruise,  and  slay. 
Some,  ere  the  old  has  fairly  had  its  day, 
Snatch  at  the  new  with  fevered  hand  of  doubt, 
Fearing  reproach  of  dullness;  or  but  tread 
Their  squirrel's  wheel  of  change  and  fickleness. 
But  she  commands  the  magic  art  to  wed 
Tokens  to  moods  with  supple  gentleness, 
Both  honoring,  the  tokens  of  her  treasure, 
And  him  that  reads  her  riches  in  her  measure. 


81 


A  WISE  MAN 

T 

J_  HE  precious  motions  of  the  spirit  rise, 
Flash  up  and  perish.     Some  men  never  know; 
Some  dully  mark  them  as  a  faded  show; 
In  terror  some  avert  their  perjured  eyes; 
Some  would  recall  them  with  inactive  cries, 
Forever  facing  from  the  living  flow; 
Some  curse  the  God  that  mocks  their  longing  so; 
Some  seek  their  God  where  very  longing  dies. 

But  he  with  gentle,  never  hasting  hand 

Each  present  moment  raises  up  aloft, 

A  priceless  jewel,  until  all  men  stand 

In  awe,  and  hearts  with  wisdom  shall  grow  soft. 

The  seal  of  immortality  he  holds, 

And  change  into  enduring  presence  moulds. 


82 


T, 


THE  RIPENING  OF  LOVE 

(To  E.) 


HE  fruitful,  even  continuity 
Of  her  rich  life  surrounded  in  a  throng 
Of  tokens,  with  a  grave  felicity, 
Her  presence  as  she  rose  to  welcome  me 
And  silently  advanced. — Ah!  love,  what  song 

Could  hold  the  treasures  of  that  silence,  ever? — 
Her  constant  eyes  were  on  me,  calm,  intent, 
Sounding  the  deepest  sources  of  endeavor. 
She  had  the  vision  incorrupt  which  never 
Needed  to  scan  the  path  of  precedent, 

Paved  with  remorse,  deep-scarred  with  compromise; 

But  parted  good  from  evil  by  the  test 

Of  her  own  substance.     Thus  she  held  mine  eyes. 

Summoning  virtue  that  enduring  lies 

Beneath  the  fiery  tumult  of  the  quest 

Of  passion,  as  the  mountain  ranges  bide 
Through  the  brief  fury  of  a  thunder  cloud. 
She  laid  her  hands  in  mine  and  pacified 
Desire,  joining  the  patient,  pulsing  tide, 
The  sweetness,  of  her  strength  to  what  was  proud 


83 


And  harsh  in  mine.     She  softly  brought  the  bloom 
Of  tenderness  upon  it,  forcing  nought, 
Holding  aloft  each  moment,  giving  room 
For  the  full  flood  of  graces  to  illume 
Our  being,  as  one  holds  a  jewel  wrought 

With  priceless  skill,  to  yield  supremacy 

To  all  its  fires.     She  spoke  and  moved  and  shone 

In  her  ripe  gladness  of  simplicity, 

Crowning  avowals  with  the  integrity 

Of  just  restraints;  not  the  reserves  that  own 

Tense-lidded  doubt,  inferior  knowingness, 
Which  palter  at  forestalling  in  a  show 
Of  wisdom;  but  the  chaste  unwillingness 
To  let  the  insensate  foot  of  covetousness 
Harry  the  just  pace  of  attainment.     Slow 

And  gradual  as  nature  was  the  unfolding 

Of  depth  on  depth.     There  was  no  conscious  sense 

Of  eager  proffering,  anxious  withholding, 

But  passionate  sobriety  of  moulding 

Each  pregnant  moment  ere  it  hurried  hence 

Into  enduring  presence.     I  did  own, 
And  with  rapt  senses  garner,  marveling 
And  all  uncoveting,  the  grace  that  shone 
From  every  look  and  feature,  turn  and  tone, 
The  concord  of  her  being;  treasuring 


84 


The  purest  substance  of  felicity. 

Thus  each  delight  was  love's  full-ripened  fruit, 

By  pure  hands  taken  from  the  Sacred  Tree; 

Each  joined  into  a  clearer  harmony 

The  sweetest  influences  at  its  root; 

And  each  gave  forth  a  radiant  augury 

Of  love's  e'er  richer  continuity. 


85 


UNDER  THE  RAINBOW  ARCH 


U, 


NDER  the  rainbow  arch  of  ardent  dreams 
She  stood,  a  smile  with  crystal  drops  at  war 
Upon  her  cheek,  and  on  her  brow,  the  gleams 
Of  light  now  mounting  high,  now  shadowed  o'er. 

I  halted  in  amaze,  and  suddenly 

I  saw  no  war,  for  every  drop  of  woe 

But  multiplied  that  purest  radiancy, 

And  every  shadow  mounting  turned  to  glow. 


86 


LOVE 


A 


BURNING  minute  'twixt  the  sombre  hours, 
A  flash  that  rends  the  chain  of  sober  wants, 
A  tender  melting  under  vernal  showers, 
A  harsh  compulsion  that  no  respite  grants — 

Sprung  of  desire,  begetting  fresh  desire, 
Forever  bedded  'twixt  the  thorns  of  longing, 
Life's  boons  consuming  in  a  greedy  fire, 
That  more  and  ever  more  may  issue  thronging — 

With  tireless  sense  caressing  every  grace, 
Yet  doomed  to  slay  his  dearest  for  the  fruit, 
Forever  nursing  future  happiness 
By  hacking  at  the  present  cherished  root — 

Proud  of  his  infinite  sufficiency, 
Yet  humbly  beggared  at  the  sacred  shrine, 
The  burdens  seeking  of  his  ministry, 
Or  high  or  low,  with  a  regard  divine — 

Life  planting  in  the  very  core  of  death, 
Heeding  nor  past  nor  future,  fixing  time 
Upon  the  present  fire-laden  breath, 
Fulfilment  finding  in  a  faith  sublime — 

Love  hath  his  empire  above  right  and  wrong, 
Passion  or  ebbing  powers,  mercy  or  wrath. 
His  sum  is  more  than  all  affections'  throng, 
And  far  beyond  our  charting  lies  his  path. 

87 


DEAD  WISDOM 


I 


HAVE  fathomed  all  and  now  my  soul  is  dead. 
I  know  my  soul  and  thine,  I  do  not  hate, 
Nor  love;  nor  grieve  for  things  that  never  come 
Or  mock  from  the  safe  refuge  of  Too  Late; 
Nor  garner  winged  graces  that  from  head 
And  heart  will  flash;  nor  feed  the  last  stale  crumb 
Left  on  the  board  of  Hope,  to  Faith  grown  numb. 
I  can  forgive  and  smile,  and  bow  to  Fate; 
I  understand:  and  now  my  soul  is  dead. 

I  have  seen  each  part,  and  now  my  soul  is  blind. 
I  see  the  thing  that  guides  the  tenderest  hand, 
The  mad,  machinal  thing  that  holds  the  threads 
Binding  each  mighty  impulse,  each  demand 
Of  love  and  passion  wilful  as  the  wind, 
Serfs  to  some  law-adjusted  clod.     And  shreds 
Is  the  brave  fabric  of  my  life,  and  sherds 
My  full-globed,  crystal  spirit.     I  understand; 
I  have  seen  each  part:  and  now  my  soul  is  blind. 

I  know  the  law,  and  now  my  soul  is  stark. 

I  hear  the  great  winds  falling  on  the  tent 

Of  thine  awed  soul,  and  know  they  are  naught  but  winds, 

And  how  they  come  and  go.     I  know  the  intent 

Of  all  the  voices  speaking  in  the  dark 

Depths  of  thy  soul;  no  baffled  wonder  blinds, 

No  lofty  dread,  no  meek  reluctance  binds. 

The  rose  is  plucked,  the  petaled  secret  rent — 

Vanished  her  heart:  and  now  my  soul  is  stark. 

88 


I  have  heard  each  part,  and  now  my  soul  is  dumb. 

Thy  world  is  quaking  with  the  thunder  call 

Of  a  great  organ  flood  of  voices.     Long 

I  have  counted,  adding  voice  to  voice,  till  all 

Should  one  by  one  fulfill  the  final  sum 

Of  flawless  message,  rout  the  old  spectral  wrong, 

As  weak  as  shadows,  and  as  shadows  strong. 

Spent  syllables  of  a  great  anthem  fall 

Upon  my  counting:  and  my  soul  is  dumb. 

For  in  my  soul,  by  all  its  fibres  fed, 

A  Stony-Eyed  One  stares,  and  picks,  and  grins, 

Till  each  Dream-Angel  is  a  tattered  whim, 

Each  Presence  but  a  shade;  and  Might-Have-Beens 

Upon  a  waste  their  Harpy-measures  tread. 

And  I  look  deep,  my  gaze  transfixes  him; 

But  past  him  grins  another,  and  in  dim 

Vistas  behind  each  one,  another  grins — 

Fiends,  phantom-mirrored,  when  the  soul  is  dead.    . 


89 


REGENERATION 


o 


UT  of  the  night  of  blank  despair 
A  new  hope  kindles  into  birth — 
Rises  a  star  on  its  constant  path 
Out  of  the  cup  of  the  empty  earth. 

Starts  a  prescient  rustle  of  leaves 
Out  of  a  dull  and  stagnant  air — 
Up  from  the  nerveless  sloth  of  defeat 
Fountains  of  strength  spring  everywhere. 

Ranks  of  the  brave  winds  onward  press, 
Legions  of  light  are  upon  the  way — 
The  bottomless  pit  of  deeds  fordone 
Is  the  womb  of  the  deeds  of  a  larger  day. 


90 


DISCOURSES 


A 


FRIENDSHIP 

WANTON  attachment  is  as  a  hot,  fierce  tempest; 
a  fever  and  a  trouble,  an  overthrow  and  a  flood, 
a  lavishness  and  a  rankness, 
and  a  sadness  of  devastation  at  the  last. 


But  a  true  friend  appeareth  as  a  clearing  cloud 
after  days  of  heaviness  and  darkness, 
shining  upon  the  hilltop. 

His  coming  is  as  a  mountain  stream; 

a  shouting  of  gladness  and  a  leaping  of  unwasted 
strength. 

His  presence,  a  draught  from  a  mountain  spring; 
a  cool  freshness,  a  purity,  and  a  renewal. 

And  his  passing,  as  the  passing  of  a  fruitful  day; 

sad,  not  with  the  sadness  of  regret  or  emptiness 

or  vain  desires, 

but  with  the  golden  longings  of  hope, 
the  resignation  of  fulfilment, 
and  the  sweetness  of  memories. 


93 


RIGHTEOUSNESS  AND  PITY 

not  thy  pity  rule  over  thy  righteousness, 
lest  she  nurse  robbers 
while  their  victim  perish  for  want  of  care; 
Nor  let  her  look  askance  at  justice, 

lest  thy  children  learn  to  despise  virtue. 

Give  pity  and  care  to  the  weak, 

but  do  not  turn  thy  back  on  the  strong, 
lest  strength  become  a  reproach. 

Take  weakness  to  thy  bosom, 

but  set  thine  heart  on  perfection. 

The  plea  of  pity  is  soft  and  unchanging, 
but  righteousness  speaks  laboriously 
and  with  discernment. 

The  portion  of  pity  is  ready  and  abundant, 

but  righteousness  sits  upon  the  bench  of  neglect, 
eating  the  crust  of  ill  favor. 

Pity  walks  in  the  shining  robes  of  approval, 
but  to  righteousness  is  cast 
the  loathsome  garment  of  the  niggard. 

Righteousness,  alone,  bears  fruit  that  does  not  ripen, 

Pity,  alone,  bears  corruption; 

But  together,  they  bring  forth  the  fulness  of  virtue. 


94 


PSYCHE 

J.N   the   innermost   heart  of   the  Ages   Thou    dwellest, 
Psyche: 

Part  dragging  forms  uncouth,  outgrown,- decaying, 

Part    taking    forms    beginning    to    shape    in    vague, 
chaotic  travail; 

Part  conscious  of  a  will  self-set  against  a  world  of  hostile 

influences, 

Part  meekly  subject  to  demonic  powers  wearing  the 
blazon  of  Fate; 

Part  lustful,  casting  guilty  glances  beneath  the  lifting  veil, 
Part   chaste,    austere,    consecrated    to   one   creative 
purpose; 

Part  haggard  with  creature  fears  of  extinction, 
Part  radiant  with  the  heroism  of  martyrs; 

Loving  all  that  live  on  earth,  for  the  eager  part  thou  hast 

in  them, 

Yet  loathing  them  for  the  sluggish  part  they  have  in 
thee; 

Part  tired,  heartsick  with  the  labor  of  the  path  behind 
1  thee,  and  the  dread  of  the  unending  path 

before  thee, 

Part  thrilling,  buoyant,  with  the  certain  knowledge 
of  thine  infinite  sufficiency; 

95 


Part  overproud  with  intimations  of  the  triumphs  before 

thee, 

Part  overhumble  with  the  burden  of  the  sloth  of  the 
Ages  upon  thee; 

Part  trembling  with  the  terror  of  things  that  are  yet  dark, 
Part  confident  with  a  faith  deeper  than  knowledge; 

More  incorruptible  and  relentless  to  the  soft  encroach 
ments  of  decay  than  the  surgeon's  steel, 
More  warm   and   mothering   to  every   surge  of  life 
than  the  spring  sun; 

More  tender  and  shrinking  than  the  feelers  of  the  snail, 
More  inexorable  than  the  force  that  drove  up  the 
mountains  from  the  plains,  and  the  islands 
through  the  ocean; 

More  unstable   than    the  wind    because  thou   followest  a 

law  more  remote  than  the  wind, 
More   steadfast   than   the    polar   star   because   thou 
hadst  part  in  the  setting  of  the  polar  star 
in  its  place; 

Incessantly  troubled  without, 
Incessantly  troubled  within; 

Changing  incessantly  as  the  thunder  cloud, 

Moving  incessantly  as  the  shadow  on  the  dial; 


96 


Dim,  beclouded,  marred  without, 

Yet  transfused  with  a  beauty  within,  as  a  murky 
glass  with  a  light  within. 

Unstable,  fleeting,  evanescent  without, 

Yet  transfigured  with  a  constancy  within,  as  a  gar 
ment  tormented  by  the  wind,  with  a  shape 
within; 

Thou  monstrous  vessel  of  the  Labor  of  God, 
Thou  monstrous,  swelling  bud  of  the  Soul  of  Man. 


97 


I 


CLAMOR 

F  thou  suspect  wrong  do  not  join  them  that  clamor, 
but  uncover  the  ground  of  wrong. 


Clamor  dulls  the  ear  of  equity  and  distracts  the  eye 

of  just  reckoning, 
And  the  unjust  are  sheltered  in  distraction 

as  in  a  cloud. 

Clamor  looks  jealously  at  his  neighbor's  lips 

and  not  at  the  hidden  ways  where  evil  walks  in 
security. 

Clamor  flies  above  the  house  tops 

while  the  root  of  evil  descends  into  the  ground 
of  obscurity. 

The  life  of  Clamor  is  nine  days, 

But  an  evil  thrives  nine  hundred  years. 


9g 


SYMPATHY 

(To  P.  D.) 

c 

OAID  one  to  him  who  had  lost  his  dearest  on  earth: 
"Thou  hast  lost  all;  pity,  O,  pity!  Thy  life  is  desolate 
and  laid  waste,  thou  art  as  a  tree  blasted  by  lightening." 

And  he  turned  and  answered:  "If  this  sorrow  cannot 
nourish  the  roots  of  my  life,  if  this  living  presence  cannot 
purify  and  renew  me;  if  this  sweetness  of  memories  can 
not  give  increase  of  wisdom,  lovingkindness,  and  strength, 
then  it  were  better  I  had  not  lived  to  know  her." 

O!  destroyers  whose  speech  is  a  worm  that  hollows  the 
root  of  virtue,  whose  blessing  is  a  blight  powdering  the 
core  of  strength,  and  whose  tenderness  is  a  languor  cor 
rupting  the  fibres  of  the  will,  a  rust  eating  the  temper  of 
the  sword,  a  wilting,  and  a  decay: 

Sympathy  does  not  walk  with  her  head  turned  backward, 
nor  with  her  eyes  lowered  and  dim,  but  with  a  level 
gaze  set  toward  the  things  to  come  through  a  mist 
of  tears,  even  as  amidst  the  mountains  one  sees  the 
kindling  of  dawn  flying  from  crest  to  crest  fronting 
toward  the  sun; 

She  is  not  an  echo  of  the  moaning  of  thy  weakness, 
But  her  voice  is  a  battle  cry  at  the  dawn; 


She  is  not  a  gloom  shape  walking  in  the  robe  of  the  night 

of  thy  despair, 
But  a  guiding  light  upon  a  dark  and  dangerous  path; 

She  is  not  a  staff  to  lean  upon,  making  thee  forget  the 

pride  of  thy  strength, 

But  an  overseer  setting  thee  tasks  according  to  thy 
power; 

She  does  not  wait  upon  thy  footsteps  when  they  drag 

wearily, 
But  strideth  before  thee,  an  example  of  courage; 

She  is  more  wise  than  pity,  teaching  thee  to  overcome 


She  does  not  dishonor  thy  grief  with  smooth  phrases, 
nor  sicken  the  soul  of  sorrow  with  a  glut 
of  sweetness; 

She  is  not  selfish,  making  a  feast  for  herself  out  of  thine 
affliction;  nor  besotted  with  the  lust  of 
woe, 

But  austere,  casting  the  furnishings  of  indulgence 
out  of  the  chamber  of  thy  grief,  teaching 
thee  restraint; 

She  is  not  a  nurse  smoothing  the  pillow  under  a  nerveless 

head, 

But  stern  as  a  man  that  espouseth  necessity,  making 
her  fruitful,  the  mother  of  exalted  deeds; 


tto 


She  is  not  as  a  courtezan,  making  up  a  bed  of  luxury  out 
of  sorrow  and  throwing  the  coverlet  of 
vain  longings  over  men,  sapping  their 
vigor  with  a  barren  passion, 

But  a  chaste  comrade  of  the  spirit,  a  fellow  pilgrim 
in  the  desert,  a  seeker  for  the  Holy  City 
of  Enduring  Love. 

She  summoneth  strength  out  of  bereavement,  and  hope 
out  of  that  which  is  absent. 

As  dawn  out  of  the  womb  of  darkness,  understanding 
cometh  out  of  sore  distress,  and  loving- 
kindness  out  of  the  bitterness  of  trial; 

Out  of  calamity  cometh  an  increase  of  gladness  and  out 
of  desolation  a  rich  harvest  of  wisdom. 

The  Temple  of  the  Spirit  is  raised  upon  pillars  of  adversity. 


101 


MORNING 

j  ^/ET  us  cast  away  old  tales,  beloved,  with  joy  on  their 

lips  and  despair  in  their  hearts, 
That  cunningly  steal  the  strength  of  our  mornings  and 

bury  it  beyond  the  bar  of  dead  ages. — 

It  is  again  the  First  Morning,  and  the  First  Men 

have  arisen, 

With  wreaths  upon  their  heads, 
Their  eyes  aglow  with  the  splendors  of  waking. 

The  air  is  as  a  clapping  of  hands  and  a  multitude  of  voices, 
And  Joy  is  rising  upon  the  wings  of  morning. 

The  great  far  mountains  are  facing  the  First  Sun, 

A  blue,  transfigured  host, 

With  rosy  garlands  upon  their  heads. 

Heaviness  falls  away  as  a  rain  cloud  breaks  from  the 

hill  side, 
And  the  imaginings  of  anxiety  vanish  utterly. 

The  flush  of  waking  is  on  our  cheeks, 
Our  brows  are  unmarked  by  the  footsteps  of  sorrow, 
And  illumined  by  a  brightness  of  spirits  unacquainted 
with  defeat. 


102 


Our  feet  are  shod  with  courage, 
Our  bodies  unmarred  by  burdens, 
And  our  countenances,  by  the  debasements  of 
covetousness  and  fear. 

And  we  know,  beloved,  that  purity  flows  forever 

from  the  bosom  of  morning, 
And  the  fountain  of  gladness  springs  forevermore. 


103 


EPIGRAMS 


NAME  NOT;  EVOKE! 

.S  from  her  vine-clad  casement  leans 
His  dearest  to  an  ardent  youth, 
The  poet's  meaning  speaks  from  screens 
Of  spirit-tended,  golden  blooth. 

If  called  by  name,  it  will  withdraw; 
But  bruise  a  flower,  'tis  fled  away. 
Name  not;  evoke!     This  is  the  law: 
Keep  fair  its  bower,  and  it  must  stay. 


107 


I 


INNER  RICHES 
(To  M.  D.) 


S  life  so  poor  it  cannot  satisfy 
The  spirit's  needs,  nor  ever  give  release, 
Nor  in  its  fulness  come  and  bid  me  cry: 
'Now  art  thou  perfect.     Stay!     I  am  at  peace' ?"- 

Is  life  so  rich,  friend,  that  its  fairest  gift 
Yet  wakes  thy  spirit  to  a  fairer  need; 
And  all  its  greatness  dwindles  to  a  shift 
To  dower  thy  purpose  for  a  greater  deed? 


108 


SPONTANEITY 


T, 


HY  first  intention,  not  thine  idle  drift; 
Thy  vision's  first  form,  not  its  readiest  shift; 
Thy  being's  motion  and  integrity; 
Thy  best,  not  waste,  is  spontaneity. 


109 


THE  "SOBER-MINDED" 


1  HE 


droop  of  man,  but  not  his  upward  urge, 
His  ebb  of  purpose,  not  his  onward  surge, 
His  handicap,  and  not  his  forward  course: 
The  waste  you  blaze,  but  not  the  inward  force. 


110 


THE  TORY 

T 

J.  HY  gaze  is  fixed,  and  fixed  and  worn  thy  ways, 
Thy  days  are  'prenticed  to  thy  yesterdays; 
For  thee  the  inward  morrows  wake  in  vain 
The  molding  impulse  and  the  shaping  strain. 


Ill 


THE  REACTIONARY 


T< 


ODAY'S  a  rebel,  to  thy  backward  gaze, 
Against  thy  hoar  and  holy  yesterdays; 
Yet  while  for  greater  morrows  it  rebels, 
Thy  yesterday's  true  heritage  it  swells. 


112 


AN  ORGAN  OF  PRIVILEGE 


N. 


O  great  cause  struggling  upward  had  thy  hand, 
Nor  great-heart  leader  ever  lacked  thy  thorn; 
Nor  ever  rose  true  prophet  in  the  land, 
But  thou  didst  nail  him  to  a  cross  of  scorn. 

Yet  hast  thou  faith? — Thy  faith  stares  from  the  throng 
Of  sleek  immaculates  in  a  club's  bays. 
And  charity? — Aye,  to  paint  fair  the  wrong 
Of  them  that  walk  the  past,  unvisioned  ways. 

Thy  lights — Ah!  thou  dost  shine — are  stabbing  sneers; 
Thine  ardors,  scoffs;  thy  motions,  bare-toothed  fears. 


113 


THE  RESPECTABLES 


A 


LYE,  to  be  sure,  you  favor  the  good  cause. 
As  for  its  leader,  fie!  he  has  some  flaws. 
And  so  you  sulk  unless  you  each  may  clip 
The  wings  and  talons  of  his  leadership. 


114 


THE  "PRACTICAL  PEOPLE" 

E  strive  with  evil — how  we  lash  and  smite  !- 
Provided  it  be  plain  in  all  men's  sight; 
Meantime,  we  lash  and  smite  an  hundred-fold 
Him  that  makes  haste  to  drag  it  from  its  hold. 


115 


THE  MAN  OF  PRECEDENT 


A 


BELL  buoy  anchored  on  a  charted  reef, 
— Ding-dong — kept  many  an  honest  craft  from  grief. 
Torn  from  its  place,  through  foul  and  fair-ways  wide 
— Ding-dong — it  wags  with  every  wind  and  tide. 


116 


THE  INSECT 


H 


.E  lived  the  sheer  decrees  of  jaw  and  sex, 
Immune  from  motions  that  defeat  and  vex; 
Sans  growth — waste — mirth,  sans  pity,  vision-free, 
Armored  in  absolute  efficiency. 


:  ll/ 


DOLLAR  EFFICIENCY 


H 


.IS  heart  ticks — fie,  if  ever  it  should  beat! 
Virtue's  a  loose-leaf  ledger,  vision  trash, 
Honor  a  patent  register  of  cash, 
And  immortality  a  balance  sheet. 


118 


UNVISIONED 

A  HE  pins  in  every  paper  he  could  tell, 
The  seeds  in  every  package  counted  well, 
Yet  saw  no  morrow  springing  from  to-day, 
Nor  morrow's  fingers  working  new  array. 


119 


BOURGEOIS-ART 


o, 


'N  wind-broke,  cudgeled  Impulse  put  a  patch 
Entitled:     "Service  to  Society," 
Then  hitch  him  with  the  good  mare  Penny-catch, 
To  draw  the  cart  of  huckster  poesy. 


120 


IN  EARLY  NECESSITY  SHIRKED, 
LATE  DELINQUENCY  LURKED 


L 


rET  not  late  prudence  bid  compassion  halt, 
Lest  all  thy  tenderness  be  thy  reproach; 
But  let  stout  equity  thine  impulse  coach, 
Lest  thy  late  need  be  reckoned  thy  default. 


121 


WANWISDOM 

ILL  wise  at  last!    Thy  reason  has  subdued 
All  frolic,  largess,          spontaneities. 
How  high  it  flames !     How  pure!     How  single-hued! 
So  fire,  its  substance  spent,  leaps  once  and  dies. 


122 


MOCK-KINDNESS 

ALTHOUGH  you  hold  me  wrong,  you  ne'er  gainsay, 
Nor  ever  chide  me  though  my  fault  be  plain, 
Nor  set  me  right;  but,  sparing  me,  shirk  pain 
Which,  growing  'twixt  us,  turns  regard  away. 


123 


EXTRAVAGANCE 


Ti 


HOU  'rt  poor  with  random  scores  of  every  kind, 
Thy  purse's  whims,  thy  haste's  indifferent  toys; 
While  thy  poor  neighbor  with  a  princely  mind, 
A  thousand  proving,  wins  the  one,  most  choice. 


124 


DUTIES,  OPPORTUNITIES,  DESIRES 

HREE  are  the  stewards  of  thy  life's  domain: 
Thy  duties,  opportunities,  desires, 
Each  proudly  heedless  of  the  other  twain, 
Each  keen  to  minister  the  spirit's  fires. 

Give  each  his  task  and  time  and  right  degree: 
They  will  join  hands,  with  song  and  right  content, 
To  work  thy  peace  and  continuity 
And  make  thee  master  of  thy  life's  intent. 

But  let  sloth  blunt  or  softness  bend  thy  rule: 
They  make  a  quarrel  of  life's  harmony, 
Of  every  impulse  thee  the  hapless  tool, 
A  fret  and  bustle  of  thine  energy. 


125 


POWER,  ENDURANCE,  ECONOMY 

HESE  are  the  captains  of  the  King,  Success, 
Three:     Power,  Endurance,  and  Economy. 
Each  formerly  had  served  the  wretch,  Distress. 
Power,  reckless  of  slow-nerved  resource  and  thrift, 
Shattered,  before  it  fully  shaped,  its  gift; 
Endurance  was  a  dull  and  drooping  fag, 
Economy  a  sightless,  barren  hag. 
Each  strove  with  each,  one  fled  another's  press, 
Till,  joined,  they  yoked  their  strife  in  harmony. 


126 


A  CYCLE 

L.NCESTOR  made  a  law  and  was  its  slave; 
Heir  mastered  it  and  righteous  freedom  gave; 
His  heir,  at  freedom  starting,  folly  found, 
Whence  sprang  the  law  the  next  ancestor  bound. 


127 


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